


this sadness will fossilize

by alderations



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Queerplatonic Relationships, i cant remember if were trying to make that A Tag, nastya and brian are qpps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations
Summary: Even Jonny knows better than to push Nastya when she doesn’t want to talk, though he still tries if he doesn’t mind being blown to bits for his trouble, but Brian just presses his lips together and starts trying to guide her in the direction of his pod. “It appears that you haven’t slept in several days, and your usual… pallor is even greyer than normal. If you’re not willing to confide in Aurora about whatever’s upsetting you, then you need someone else to talk to, yes?”
Relationships: Drumbot Brian & Nastya Rasputina
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	this sadness will fossilize

Nastya has, apparently, started jogging.

If it weren’t for the loud, rhythmic  _ thunk  _ of her feet against the metal flooring of the halls, no one would’ve known. When she keeps to herself, she’s impossible to find in the belly of the ship, but she’s not trying all that hard right now, just jogging around the O’Neill ring in meandering circles with the apparent intent of running herself into the ground. That’s where Brian finds her, slumped against a wall and struggling to breathe, her glasses sliding down her sweat-slicked nose.

“Nastya,” he asks, “what the fuck are you doing?”

She coughs into her elbow and then draws herself up to her feet to glare at him. “Running. Not that it concerns you, Drumbot.”

“You’re going to wake half the ship, and they won’t take kindly to it. Were I capable of sleep, I might have shot you just to preserve my own beauty rest.”

After a long, deadpan stare, Nastya shakes her head and stares up at the ceiling. “That’s bullshit and we both know it.  _ Beauty rest.  _ I can go run circles around the engine room, if that’s what you would prefer.”

“Or… you can come back to my room and explain what has you so bothered that you feel the need to run around the ship aimlessly,” Brian counters.

Nastya glares up at him as she struggles to hide how hard she’s breathing. “What if it’s none of your business?”

Anyone else on the ship might have balked at that. Even Jonny knows better than to push Nastya when she doesn’t want to talk, though he still tries if he doesn’t mind being blown to bits for his trouble, but Brian just presses his lips together and starts trying to guide her in the direction of his pod. “It appears that you haven’t slept in several days, and your usual… pallor is even greyer than normal. If you’re not willing to confide in Aurora about whatever’s upsetting you, then you need someone else to talk to, yes?”

For several seconds, Nastya just grinds her teeth and studies the motionless seams of Brian’s face, before her shoulders slump and she gives in to Brian’s herding.”Fine. I would rather  _ not  _ talk about anything, if it’s all the same to you, but I can exist in your general vicinity if it’ll make you feel better about yourself.”

Brian rolls his eyes, though Nastya’s no longer looking at him. She’s like a skittish octokitten, he figures; you can build up her trust for years and years, but one wrong look sends her back to hissing and hiding in the cabinets. He’s not sure what set her off this time, but she’s much more pliable when she’s not putting on a show for the entire crew, so Brian has high hopes for getting an answer out of her once they’re alone.

By the time they actually get to Brian’s pod, Nastya has half-deflated. Her billowing coat—Brian can’t imagine that it’s comfortable to run in, but he tries not to ask too many questions—hangs limply from her shoulders, and her heavy boots scuff against the floor as she crosses the threshold and adjusts to the minute shift in gravity. “Tea?” he offers, gesturing at the kettle on his desk.

“No, thank you,” Nastya sighs. Her relative politeness is a good sign, since it means that some of her prickle has receded already, but Brian still keeps a wary eye on her as she slouches over to his bed and sits down. When he’s alone, Brian never uses the bed. He doesn’t sleep like the others, certainly not lying down, but his massive nest of blankets and pillows has long since been deemed the most comfortable spot on the ship by half of its crew, so he keeps it in top condition just to be sure that everyone has a cozy place to break down and be held if need be. Jonny has assured him, in whispers meant for his ears alone, that Brian himself is part of the experience, but the Drumbot is still uncertain.

As he sits down next to Nastya, she pulls the sleeves of her coat up and stares at her wrists, apparently looking for something, and—there, as she shivers, a brief flicker of rainbow visible even through her skin, her mechanism repairing itself. Brian wonders how long she had been running when he found her, before all thoughts are pushed aside by the reality of Nastya’s face crumpling in front of him.

She doesn’t cry, only presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and shakes with silent gasps, as Brian twiddles his thumbs and debates whether to offer her a one-armed hug. This may just be a torrent of grief that she has to ride out, which he can understand, but by the time she finally drags her hands away from her face and looks at him, eyes silver-rimmed and watery, Brian’s heart aches with the need to hold her.

“Is something wrong with your…?”

Nastya shakes her head. “No. Nothing’s wrong, or nothing that I didn’t cause, at least.” Her hands tremble as she drops them into her lap. “I thought it might help if I just got it  _ out  _ somehow. Got some exercise, like Marius said.”

“Marius has never intentionally exercised in his life,” Brian points out.

“Yes, I know that.” She smirks for a moment before sinking back into the numb mask that Brian has watched for so many years. “I don’t want to burden Aurora. Don’t want her to think I’m going to—that I might leave again. Because I won’t, I swear.”

At the desperation in her voice, Brian gives in and rests a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you. It’s okay, Nastya, you don’t have to confide  _ everything  _ in her. I’m sure she understands.”

Though she shows no indication of processing his words, Brian gives Nastya time to ruminate, her hands twisting in her lap and her nose scrunching every few minutes when her glasses start to slip down. “I don’t think we’re meant to remember this much,” she says at last. “Well. Maybe Ca—maybe she programmed  _ you  _ to store all these memories, but I… it hurts to bring things back.”

“Of course it does,” Brian affirms. “Every one of us has endured more than a mortal human could comprehend.”

Nastya’s lip twitches as if half-heartedly attempting to scowl. “It’s… the problem lies with the memories themselves. I can’t stop thinking about the—the early days. When it was just us against  _ everything,  _ against the entire universe, and I loved her so much and so  _ hard  _ that even remembering it makes me feel like I’m going to burst open. This”—she gestures at the silver still glimmering under her skin—“makes me think of going back to Cyberia, destroying it from the inside out. Of how fiercely I missed her in those years. And I’m fucking  _ nostalgic  _ for it, as if it wasn’t one of the worst periods in my life. Before that, even, I think of—I miss—I—”

“You miss  _ her,” _ Brian fills in the gaps.

The breath that leaves Nastya’s chest hisses like some deadly machine depressurizing, and Brian watches her slender form sag into the mass of blankets before he can steady her with a hand. “Yes. I miss  _ her. _ And I don’t need to tell you that I hate myself for it.”

Moving slowly so as to avoid startling her, Brian also leans back into the bed, until he and Nastya are both lying sideways and staring up at the ceiling in parallel. “I miss being human,” he confesses. “I miss running for my life and struggling for every breath, being so aware of my own mortality that it burned in my throat and made me do things that turn my stomach even now, when I no longer… have a stomach. There’s a part of me that misses being executed, and the first frigid moments of being launched into space, because I felt  _ something.” _

“Yes,” Nastya breathes. “Other than rocks in my chest.”

Brian huffs a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

They lie there for a while, Nastya matching her breath to the rhythmic workings of the bellows in Brian’s metal torso. For his part, Brian can’t be sure what she’s thinking about, but he watches out of the corner of his eye as she raises one hand toward the ceiling as if comparing her own skin to the steel paneling. When stillness starts to get uncomfortable—as is the way of things, for a Drumbot—he drags himself to his feet and moves to his desk, where a half-strung banjo clutters the space.

“I love you, you know,” he says.

For a few seconds, Nastya stops breathing, and her whole body trembles when she starts up again. It’s hard for her to hear, as solitary and self-loathing as she can be, but Brian has made a point to tell her as often as she can handle it, since she came back. He’s not sure if it actually helps her cope any better, but at least he no longer has the unspoken love between them weighing on his conscience. Even if she only grumbles and shakes him off.

Instead, she surprises him by kicking her shoes off and shifting to curl up fully on his bed, sweaty coat and all. “Love you too. Can I nap here?”

“Of course,” Brian laughs. His bed exists purely for moments like this, when one of his crewmates needs to rest in the safety of a space that isn’t their own. Watching Nastya fluff his pillows and shuck her coat in favor of his blankets, Brian allows himself to relax, just a bit, until her soft snores fill the room and he can focus on the task at hand.

**Author's Note:**

> hi im on a mitski kick, lord help me, also I listened to Frankenstein (the book) in two (2) days and I'm very fucked up atm and just needed to blehhhhh all my feelings onto Nastya. so here we are.
> 
> I should've gone to bed an hour ago.
> 
> comments fuel my soul and help me go to bed at a more reasonable hour, hypothetically <3 kudos also good. or come talk to me on tumblr @alderations.
> 
> title (and inspiration) is from [Fireworks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edEO9Ldb_VQ) by Mitski


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